Category Archives: Uncategorized

Aug20

Open, honest… Oman

Posted on August 20, 2014 by helenwilding05

Open, honest… Oman

First view of Oman

Surrounded by redish-grey razor sharp mountains my first view of Oman was striking. The sun scorched, the sky was brittle blue and the water left white waves beating the desert like shore. Bordering Yemen, Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emarites, Oman could be seen as a place unwise to venture as a blonde woman alone. In January I found myself just outside of Muscat with a day to kill. Dressed in a long skirt and a scarf covering my shoulders I began the 20 minute walk into the town centre with two other young women from europe. I have to take this moment to say, I didn’t know what to expect, yet, Oman gripped me as one of the most friendly places I have ever traveled to. As the three of us rounded the corner of the port and began the trail towards the marketplace a man began to follow us. My awareness piqued, we began to walk faster. He also walked faster… finally he caught up with us.

“Where are you going?” he asked in perfect English

“The marketplace” I replied

“I’ll show you”

I began to check to see if I had change to pay him for his kindness. A naïve mistake I now know: He looked genuinely hurt.

“I will walk with you,” he said again “just to make sure you are safe. Enjoy your time here in Muscat!” As we walked he chatted about his brothers business how long he had lived here and how the weather was a little chilly right now.

Opposite the market he left us with a smile and went on his way, satisfied the women he had spied were safe.

Market place

The marketplace

I straight away began to drop my preconceptions. Oman is an educated and beautiful country. Its opera house is a huge pull of tourism and culture as this country’s appreciation of art is unrivalled. Even the bus stops along the seafront were so intricately designed they almost become art themselves.

Ceiling of a bus shelter on the seafront

After a wander through the stalls, picking out fabrics for my upcoming wedding and to generally add interest to outfits (and finding the obligatory fridge magnet to take home!) I found myself wandering through the backstreets of Muscat. It struck me as similar to many greek islands The white of the houses, the dust of the dry landscape mixed with the intricate music of local radio yammering from shaded windows. Shop keepers eyed us with interest… three young women alone in western dress! Surely we must be lost! Needing a drink we came across a sea front café looking out the clear water towards the old battlements on the mountains. A family, one father, many wives and their children joined the hubub. The monochrome covering of the women shifting now and again to reveal bright glimpses of colour and jewels. They laughed together, wives of the same man, happy in their afternoon activities. Children clattered by on BMX’s chasing one another loudly through the traffic.

European girls in Muscat

At that moment it struck me, regardless of society structure, this was as any other place in the world. I have sat in cafés in the USA and UK and seen a similar sight just with slightly different social constructs. Everywhere in the world, whether under a Sultan or a President, kids chase each other, brothers torment their sisters and families spend an afternoon sipping iced tea by the sea.

If you ever get the chance to go to Oman, I encourage you to do so. Don’t expect a travellers playground like Dubai, but do expect a conservative, proud and educated country. Eager to please and help you experience their own culture. The dusty desert hides a gem here.

View from the ship

Aug17

Posted on August 17, 2013 by helenwilding05

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One Tuesday shortly after lunch I found myself Tom and 2 of our friends running breathlessly from angry mexicans and confused police officers. I didn’t want to end up in a mexican jail this evening! I wanted to swim with a dolphin! How did I end up running with all my might towards a mexican freeway?

Earlier that day bad weather had hampered our entry to Cozumel harbour. Today was the day I was going to fulfill my dream of swimming with dolphins. Giddy, I paced the starboard corridor on the phone to Chankanaab National Park… yes we would be late but yes we still wanted to swim with dolphins.. would that be ok? The answer was, “Sorry you can’t book. Make a booking in the port.”… Reassured we boarded a tender and bobbed painfully slowly towards land. Chankanaab is a place where rescued dolphins are rehabilitated and kept in sea pens where they are available and willing for one on one swimming and contact with the public. They are as free as they can be under their circumstances of health. They are happy and healthy and not overcrowded in anyway. After much research we knew this was the right place for such a great experience. HOWEVER there are other establishments in Mexico where the mammals are kept in glorified swimming pools and petted by huge numbers of tourists every hour.

Now Mexico is a wonderful place but as with any place which has a huge influx of toursist at any given time, there are characters that will do anything to take your money. As we landed and made our way to the taxi rank, a man stopped us.

“Chankanaab National Park? Dolphins?” he shouted. Our heads turned in his direction. His outfit boasted a logo and his clipboard seemed to match… I admit we were fools to be taken in. However we were.

He took our booking and deposit. Phoned ahead and assured us the taxi was included in the price. The 4 of us got in and heading out to the park. We realised something was wrong when the taxi slowed barely 5 mins after setting off. It pulled into a swimming pool complex full of american tourists trailing past n obviously distressed dolphin. He started to drive away… I got back in the cab. “No!” I said hotly “This is NOT Chankanaab! We paid for chankanaab! Take us there”.

Suddenly his english failed him. He started shouting in spanish. Refusing to leave we all piled back in to the cab. Tom in his fluent spanish made it clear we would go back to the taxi rank and find the man who sold the tickets to us. Huffily he agreed and we set off back again.

Once back at the harbour, needless to say all hell broke loose. He demanded to know where our money was the cab driver asked for $100 for a 10 min round trip. The alleged Chankanaab rep has lost his reference for us and began shouting with the driver and Tom. Some where withing the melé of spanish I heard Tom shout:

“RUN!! They’ve called the police saying we’ve refused proper payment. RUN!”

So there we were, running down the boulevard of Cozumel port dodging taxis and glancing over our shoulders. Friends of the rep joined the chase as we increased speed towards the highway!

As we reached the slip road Tom shouted a barage of spanish at a passing taxi. It slowed… opening its doors. We piled in. We had 4 hours till sail away and I was bloody well going to swim with a dolphin! I gave the driver the name of the National Park and tried to breathe and the police disappeared from view in the rear mirror.

Chankanaab is beautiful. It comprises a lagoon for snorkelling, a rehab centre for sealife and over 30 happy dolphins. We paid our money and changed. Suited and booted we made our way to training. As we sat learning the commands we would use with our respective dolphins 3 security guards walked slowly up to the group. All 4 of us I’m sure stopped breathing. I gripped Toms hand. For a split second the image of us being hauled in my mexican authorities stopped my heart! They clocked us… seemed to relax and without a word, left. It must have been our lucky day!

Tom flying with the Dolphins!

Well from then onwards I had a thoroughly lovely day. My dolphins we called Aztecca and Athena and they kissed, jumped and splashed so that he 12 year old girl inside me could not stop smiling! I swear I have never smiled so much in my life. The highlight of the experience was lying flat on my belly while 2 dolphins took one foot each. They they pushed with their noses on the ball of my foot propelling me forwards, (faster than my bikini appreciated!), then they jumped. I mean the flew into the air with me balanced on their noses! My bikini was falling off but I have never been happier.

Hours later truly wrinkled from the water and exhausted, we made our way back to the port. A yard of cocktail and some wrestling masks made us slightly calmer about wandering around the port unrecognised.

I don’t really remember the rest of the evening. Whether it was the excitement of the day or that yard of cocktails… Either way, I was looking forward to the next stop… New Orleans!

Jul5

Roatan – Hooray for Honduras!

Posted on July 5, 2013 by helenwilding05

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We had 5 hours in Roatan. 5 hours of paradise.

Home of the barrier reef (not to be confused with the Australian great barrier reef), Roatan is the largest of Honduras’ bay islands. It is 37 miles long and the widest it gets is 5 miles. It is a long feather of an island in the Caribbean sea surrounded by an unseen underwater wonderland.

We were given a half day call at the island. Not nearly long enough! But at 8 am I grabbed my beach bag and set off to explore my first island since emerging from the panama canal 2 days earlier. The eastern bay in Roatan is the picturesque turquoise you’d expect from the Caribbean, the land is lush and green framed with snow-white beaches and even boasts a ship wreck peeking out of the deep to greet you as you sail into her shallow and exclusive dock. To get to the terminal you need to cross a wooden pier under which turtles glide in and out of waving sea grass. Heaven. A matter of contention on the island is that the port has been turned into a self contained resort, keeping the tourists inside its well tended pathways and beaches and away from exploring the true Hoduran island. A ski lift takes you from the quaint shops and market stalls over mangroves to a private icing sugar beach serviced by handsome waiters.

In truth it was enjoyable and idyllic but, to be honest, it reminded me more of disneyland than a living island. After an hour of swimming and lounging in the sun, Tom and I met our friend Sheldon who had wonderfully organised for us to go on a dive with him over on the west of the island.

Roatan has roads that wind up and down the hills. Crammed into the back of a minivan, 6 of us bounced around excitedly as we got closer to the west end village. The taxi driver, having car trouble, pulled into a garage and relaxed for a while. I don’t think time is an issue in paradise. When we were on the move again, hills gave way to the palm lined beaches and beautifully painted houses that looked just like dolls houses. Beautiful.

Our destination was Coconut tree divers (www.coconutetreedivers.com) a great dive shop on west end beach that caters for anyone that wants to explore the reef, from absolute beginners to experienced scuba divers. If you’re ever in Roatan GO THERE!! They’re lovely! As my fluent spanish speakers (Tom and Sheldon) were suiting up I tried my spanglish… the woman behind the desk smiled at me… Imagine my surprise when the spoke with a liverpudlian accent! That made me feel right at home as I searched for the right flippers and mask! All suited and booted we made our way to their boat. As I still don’t have my PADI Tom and I opted for snorkelling.

The water was deep deep blue as our boat bounced over the ridge to the Barrier reef. Even though I love being out on the water and was living on a small ship… there is something about the motion of a teeny boat that makes me green! Thankfully we anchored over a gorge in the reef and the divers in our party headed down to the ocean floor. Tom and I were left to drift over ravines and capture moments with huge rainbow fish the size of our arms! The golden sunlight streamed through the water in bold diagonal shafts making the tiny colourful fish all around us look like confetti. We spent an hour swimming in pretty much silence enjoying each others company and chasing flashes of rainbow fish that darting under the cavernous coral. There’s not much I can say about it. It was beautiful and peaceful.

Tom floating above the coral

An hour later we reluctantly headed back to shore happily exhausted and hungry. Of course our taxi back to the east of the island didn’t… there was a moment of panic as we realised the ship would not wait for us if we were late… but then the laid back feeling of the island must have rubbed off on us as we idly looked for another ride back whilst perusing surf shops and playing on the beach. I saw a group of school children, just finished for the day, running to the pier and jumping straight into the water leaving their books piled in the sand. That’s the life out here. How wonderful!

Fish like confetti!

Sheldon and his bubbles!

Coral gorge

Tom and I Our little boat

Children paying after school West End

Our group of divers after a good old dive session!

I gazed out of the window the whole journey back to the ship listening to the life story of our latest taxi driver as Tom snored next to me. We sailed away (stocked with rum from Duty Free! ), closing my eyes I drifted off.

The adventure wasn’t over yet… next stop Mexico!

Jun12

Oh little town…The Day I discovered Jerusalem and Bethlehem

Posted on June 12, 2013 by helenwilding05

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If people ask me if I’m religious my answer is… “I believe in happiness and no harm to others” .

I can’t narrow it to a single religion or teaching. I am an undecided agnostic with beliefs stretching from Ishaya Meditation, Buddhism and humanism, through to the Christian beliefs I was taught by my parents. However last year, I visited Jerusalem. It’s history made me appreciate the passion of those who believe in the ancient religions even though I do not follow them myself.

This is the day I saw Jerusalem.

7 am the day before Christmas eve, bleary eyed and with bellies full of toast and excitement we left the ship in blazing sunshine on the Haifa coast and began our day trip to Jerusalem and Bethlehem. Armed guards gave way to a freeway passing beaches I would have assumed would look more at home in L.A. than in Israel. I intended to go on a trip to an interesting city on a poignant day…I expected to have a lovely time… I did not expect to experience a culture that would make me re-examine my own beliefs.

Beach front en-route from Haifa to Jerusalem

I began to see why there is so much fighting regarding the ‘Holy Land’. It is a living history, vibrant yet welcoming, repeating itself in a wheel of violence and piety but also full of people no different to you and I building their lives. Everywhere you see evidence of Man’s attempt to claim utopia. Although I personally believe utopia must be found in our own peace, I admit there is an energy to the place. Its dead almost outnumber its living but it is a city expectant of tomorrow – ‘tomorrow’ being the ‘end of days’. This belief is so tangible, so immediate, that the Muslim population has built a graveyard in the ‘eastern gate’ (where, according to the book of Revelation, Jesus will supposedly make his next appearance when he returns). Yes, there on the streets of Jerusalem, it is truly that simple and literal! This, in their eyes, will stop the prophesied return because in their teachings, it is said that a holy teacher cannot enter a cemetery as it is considered unclean. This tangible effort to affect such happenings is an example of how fundamentally truthfully this place regards its teachings.

They are the same teachings I heard as a child in little lever Methodist church in Bolton literally 1000s of miles from their origins. As I have got older I have rationalised these teachings as metaphorical stories based in fragmented history to teach me the lessons of life: To teach me humility, care of others, confidence in belief and tolerance.

Traveling in a coach up the steepening freeway towards Jerusalem on my journey from Haifa port, our tour guide began to quote the psalms of ascension Psalms (120 – 134). As the bus climbed she spoke in a south African accent heavy with an Israeli lilt, “When they spoke of lifting their eyes to the hills from whence comes their salvation… they were singing songs about walking up this steep road to the temple” I suddenly was struck by the notion that these psalms, these songs I had heard as a child were in fact as understandable as the spirituals sung in fields to raise spirits and keep faith during a long days toil. For years I had dismissed them as poetic attempts to convey spiritual teachings and structure prayers. However, they suddenly became accessible to me. They were about climbing a hill. To me they held no secret meaning, no hidden message. How wonderful.

This place has been a pilgrimage for 3 major religions for over 4000 years. That in itself is almost inconceivable… the fact that was now a pilgrim was even more so. These literal psalms made me begin to re address my own understanding of the religion I was raised with.

The freeway gave way to a mountain top, white with tombs, edged with vivid green palms, olive groves and gardens all framed by an impossibly blue sky. It struck me at once that this was a view I had seen a million times on Christmas cards… only this was real and more impressive. Determined to enjoy my Israeli adventure I rode a camel! Yes, spiritual awakenings aside, I’ve always wanted to ride a camel and here I was… just 5 dollars away from an uncomfortable terrifying wonderful 15 minutes on an angry flea ridden camel (which I swiftly named grouchy). With a sore bottom and a smile of my face I bade farewell to grouchy and we set off for the garden of Gethsemane.

Grouchy and I

Gethsemane was so small, so beautiful and so cared for. I noticed there were different groups of religious pilgrims all mesmerised by the importance of these 3000 year old trees that were themselves relics. Unlike the relics I saw on my trip to Rome, these relics were not under lock and key, no denomination had claimed them. They simply continued to grow amid the gazing eyes of tourists, priests and pilgrims. Beautiful.

We continued on to Bethlehem… into the West bank. As we approached the wall crowned with its own thorny barbed wire, Bethlehem glistened like a crystal white replica of a Christmas card behind graffiti propaganda and armed guards. This, I felt, was not a safe place to be. We were all told to put away our electrical goods and not make sudden movements as a young man in army issue camouflage boarded the coach with an AK47. What he was looking for I have no idea, but he silently nodded to the driver, disembarked and we were on our way again, all a little quieter than before.

Bethlehem… the fist view

Bethlehem was busy. We didn’t stay long. I wish I could say more but we rushed from here to there avoiding queues and therefore avoiding the relics that we had come to see. I liked Bethlehem it seemed like a tough little city, battling everyday troubles with the added yoke of being the birthplace of the world most famous man. As we left I chuckled at the amount of hotels in Bethlehem advertising vacancies so close to Christmas eve.

We passed the original steps to the great Jewish temple. We power walked through the lingering crowds celebrating the 4^th night of Hanukah to see the stations of the cross. In the cacophony of hymns, carols, tourist shouts for attention, Hanukah songs and bazaar salesmen trying to sell their wares, I saw a real world where a historical figure I have revered all my life took his last steps. For the first time I saw Jesus as a political prisoner rather than an image of suffering and redemption (which I have no doubt has its place). His life, what I know if it, seemed to suddenly to have more in common with the faces I saw painted on the wall separating the West Bank from Israel. The exception being that their slogans of peace and depictions of slain martyrs bear arms. Is Jesus Christ still the only figure to achieve such status and following through the utter abhorrence of conflict? How ironic that so many have conflicted in his name.

Slogans painted on the West Bank Wall

As I watched the lights of Jerusalem disappear in to the distance and our group of mismatched pilgrims made our way back through the darkening night to our ship, I reflected on my day. I feel the major result of my trip to the ‘holy land’ is the fact that I am driven to think this way and write about this. Regardless of faith, Israel is undoubtedly holy. The history is not just buried beneath its soil and aging amid the Christmas lights, the Hanukah candles and the Eid fireworks – it is living, breathing and growing as vibrantly today as it did 4000 years ago. What does the future hold for this beautiful place? …. I for one would keep my eyes on that eastern gate….

3000 year old graves mixed with recent ones cover the mount of olives

Ancient Olive trees in Gethsemane

Feb8

Bugs, a mouth full of moth and the changing of the waters.

Posted on February 8, 2013 by helenwilding05

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The Amazon rainforest encompasses 5,500,000 square km. In this vast space countless bugs: big, small, discovered and undiscovered, live in a delicate balance. However, in this 5,500,000 square kilometres of open air and freedom, one particular moth decided the place it wanted to fly was… my mouth. Yes. I was enjoying a carefree glass of red one night when … bam!.. a huge moth the size of a CD collided with my teeth. As I sat there, stunned, my friends laughed heartily and delighted in pointing out that I now had powdery lines where its wings had hit my face and took the opportunity to take many pictures. I looked like a dishevelled Joker from the batman movies! I was not impressed…

Not impressed after tasting my first Amazonian Moth!

I’m not kidding… these things were huge!

Every night the moths would flock to the light of the ship and cluster in great numbers on portholes and light fittings. Their massive patterned wings, mostly browns and oranges, were decidedly retro and uncannily had the ability to make parts of ship look like they were wrapped in 1970’s wallpaper! However, as the sun rose the next day, these stowaways found themselves without shade and clinging to hot metal that reached searing temperatures by midday. The result was the unfortunate daily massacre of hundred of bugs. Whilst at night we grew accustomed to kamikaze grasshoppers and beetles sharing the dinner table and having a swim in our glasses of Malbec, each day brought the same crunch of countless victims of the Brazilian sun as we tried in vain to tip toe around their roasted little bodies. It sounds awful but we really did get used to it. That is except for Maude. Maude was a passenger with a heart bigger than any one I’ve ever met. A vegetarian and a crusader for animal welfare back in the UK she became the advocate for bugs rights during the 3 months we spent in South America. Unbeknownst to anyone, Maude was collecting and ‘rescuing’ what she termed ‘the poor beasties’ and hiding them on her balcony in the hope that they would survive. It was only after we had travelled through Argentina, past Cape Horn, and up through Chile to Peru that she finally confided in me she had a menagerie of insects waiting to be set free…. Unfortunately, having gone through 2 oceans, past icebergs and 2 crossings of the equator her labours were in vain. Bless her. She had a little funeral and a glass of sherry in their honour. What a lovely, if somewhat quirky, lady she was.

A curious dinner guest

The poor souls that didn’t make it.

The Changing of the water is a phenomenon where two of the great rivers in the Amazon basin meet. It was about 6.30 in the morning as we approached Manaus, 1000 miles from the coast, that we witnessed the opaque black waters of the Rio Negro and the brown strong tea coloured waters of the Amazon river meet. Tired eyed and hungover we sat in the balmy dawn waiting. Minutes turned into an hour and still we sat. Tom began learning the Argentinian tango with the dance teachers on a little patch of astro-turf on the deck and I settled into my latest Nora Roberts novel. We were about to give up and go in for breakfast… Then we saw it dead ahead. There was a line in the flow of the water. A barrier appeared where the waters refused to mix. The resulting appearance was similar to oil and water. The black of the Rio Negro affronting the sandy Amazon who held her ground in defiance. We all leaned over bars and railings to see the moment the ship passed from the brown into the black. The change in the density of the water was so strong that there was a tangible ‘bump’ when the ships bow hit the new river. Small boats streamed past us into the city harbour kicking up ebony trails in their wake. It truly is a strange and alien spectacle to behold. It is yet another example of how this part of the world takes what you think you know and turns it on its head. Water meeting water here can be a war, not a gentle mixing of compounds like we see everywhere else. The coffee coloured Amazon gave way to the deep dark chocolate bay of Manaus as we looked on amazed.

The view directly overboard

The moment the rivers meet

We were to leave in Manaus and fly back to the UK, heading off to North Africa and the Canary Islands before rejoining our lovely ship in Chile in 3 weeks time. Later that morning, bags packed and cabin emptied, I sat with a cup of tea enjoying the last of the February sun before my flight. We were moored directly opposite the riverboats that take tourists, supplies and locals further up the river to places we couldn’t quite reach: Little Amazonian villages and towns that I could only dream about. Men sat on the dock drinking beer and chatting for hours on end stopping occasionally to haul some rope or laugh with other crews. The bay was a hive of activity and colour with smells that weren’t so pleasant but intriguingly exotic catching the wind to my seat. The announcement came over the speakers that it was time to leave for the airport. Grabbing my bag I promised myself I’d be back and that next time I would be on one of the little boats, meandering through unknown places closer to the piranhas than ever before.

The busy dock

Sittin’ on the dock o’ the bay

As we flew over Manaus, the impossible city surrounded by 5 million square km of jungle, civilisation became very small indeed. The two rivers scared the land like spilled hot drinks, and, in the midst of the stain, a white speck – our ship and home for so long now – floated on its way. The colours of the houses and the people faded to faint dots on an eternity of green. Hidden below us lived the only untouched peoples on earth. It was a wonderful thought, and as we bounced along over tropic storms, I fell into restful dreams of adventures I was yet to have and slept until we reached Rio.

The changing of the waters

It was a long journey back to the UK and to be honest I can’t remember much of it except the hunger from 18 hours of aeroplane food. However, I will never forget arriving at Manchester airport in February and stepping into 4 inches of snow and wearing only my flip-flops, hot pants and cami-vest. Yeah. The UK was COLD! Thank goodness I was only there a week. Next stop Casablanca the Atlantic islands… then on to Chile.

Feb5

Cocktails with Piranhas… an Amazon Adventure

Posted on February 5, 2013 by helenwilding05

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I have an adventure hat. I wear it for adventures. My colleagues and friends laughed at my tatty hemp woven hat as it hung in my cabin for 4 months whilst we meandered our way across Europe, north Africa and the Atlantic on our way to Brazil and its immense Amazon river. However, the morning we called in Alter do Chao, a remote sandy haven a few hundred miles up-stream, I donned my hat and was proud. My pippi-longstocking braids were in place and I was off adventuring!! Little did I know that my day would include hoarding fallen mangoes, bullet ants bigger than my lipstick, cocktails and swimming in piranha infested water! However, when one wears an adventure hat… adventures will happen.

Moored just offshore in Alter Do Chao

Our adventure took the form of a trip to an arboretum on the edge of primary rainforest about 50 miles from Santarem and Alter do Chao. An arboretum in the greatest rainforest on earth confused me somewhat at first, but the premise of the place is clear. It is a protected area where the trees are catalogued and researched. They open their gates for people like us to experience the majesty of the primary rainforest and hopefully appreciate the delicate balance of life it provides.

I was, in fact I was going into the rainforest with a group of 50 pensioners on an organised and probably somewhat tame ‘meander’. However, that didn’t dampen my excitement one bit. This was my first foray into Brazil! As I emerged into the hot morning sun, the tattered straw hat rammed onto my pigtailed head, excitement bubbled through me. We were moored about 200 metres from shore at Alter do Chao just beyond the town of Santarem from where the tender boats would take us across the thick brown water to the shallow sandy banks of the village. Stepping onto the sand my flip flops slipped and sank into the heated ground as I virtually skipped to the old wooden walkway leading over the marshland to the village square. Tom joined me for the trip, his excitement rivaled mine as he poked fun at the now infamous hat and raced me through the village square to the bus that would take us into the jungle.

The pier at Alter Do Chao

The bus was old and hot. It shuddered along crater filled roads deeper into the Brazilian wilds. Shuddering indeed but not in a refrained British sense of the word. This bus raced, bounced and careered mercilessly past markets and countless churches: icons of Mary fruitlessly blessing us as we rocketed towards blind bends… maybe she expected to see us soon. The fact that this bus was older than my parents didn’t seem to bother the driver one bit. The sooner we got there, the sooner he had a break. Brazil is wonderful.

One of many Churches on the way to primary jungle…

The road to the wild…

As Brazil streaked past the windows Raul filled in a largely disinterested audience on his Amazonian heritage. He grew up in the jungle and hadn’t left it until he was 14 years old when he went to Santarem for school. His memories of leaving one world and joining another were vivid and fascinating. He spoke of living, as most Amazonian tribes do, without knowledge of money or outside influences, of needing nothing except what the forest can give on an hour by hour basis. Life dictated by the heat of the day and the sound of the wind in the trees. “Could you go back to that life?” I asked him. “I could walk into the jungle right now with the clothes on my back and live happily for the rest of my life” He replied. That’s freedom.

The bus pulled to the side of the now undistinguishable track. We piled out into the heat of the day and heard the deafening sound of jungle insects. The Amazon is a largely nocturnal environment due to the heat of the day. The life that buzzes and chatters around you during daylight hours tends to be winged and many legged! Covered in bug spray I stepped into the shade of the canopy… me and my adventure hat disappeared into the jungle.

I don’t remember how many kinds of trees we were introduced too. Rubber trees, hollow trees that resonate sound for 10 miles if you hit them with a big stick (perfect for if you’re lost apparently- I didn’t want to find out!), trees that seem to grow from the sky downwards, wrapping their tendril branches around their more traditional rivals. All in all the scale of the place made me feel like a borrower! I was tiny with insects bigger than my hand rustling in the trees. It was incredible. We followed the track past a mound of roots that arched like a jungle gym above our heads and below our feet. Before I reached them I heard gasps, some screams and many expletives! Bullet ants swarmed around our feet. These are ants that are 2 inches long and have a sting that causes excruciating pain for 24 hours if touched! Raul mentioned that in his tribe a boy must put his arm into a bullet ant nest before he can become a man. Wow. I lingered as long as I dared and set off to see some more.

They were big. They were scary. They were well camouflaged!

The great thing about traveling with Tom is his ability to play. Soon we began to hang back from the rest of the group, winding our way off the track and pretending we were explorers. Posing in funny angles next to trees to look like we were climbing them in our snapshots. Peeping through undergrowth looking for animals we imagined were waiting to be discovered. Slipping and sliding in mud and undergrowth like children. We were hot, we were muddy, we were tired and we were having the most fun I could remember in all my adult life. Arriving back at the bus, we filled our arms and back packs with mangoes from the jungle floor as the passengers looked at us as though we were mad. Packed back into the furnace of a bus, we snacked on our mangoes and dozed all the way back to the village. We had been gone 4 hours… it felt like days!

Trees and vines weaving around one another

Footbridge over caymans and snakes…

Feeling tiny…

And tinier…

If you’re lost you can hit this tree with a stick and it can be heard for 10 miles!

Our lovely guide Raul

Free mangoes!!

Time to go

Who needs a TomTom when you can find your way with this???

Hot and exhausted Tom and I decided we needed a sugary drink…. Asking a vendor with a pile of limes if she sold juice she emphatically waved us over. “Yes! $1!” Sold. However, she tipped a cup of sugar into each glass, followed by 4 limes and what turned out to be 6 shots of Cachaca (sugarcane spirit)!!! Emboldened and somewhat hammered from our thirst quenching cocktail we proceeded to find the beach…..make friends with some local children… share their sweets with them… and swim in the great river. Cocktail in hand I placed my feet in the muddy water, the same water that held crocodiles, pink dolphins and the infamous piranhas. Their presence was tangible as the beach was littered with the less fortunate of these tiny terrors who had been caught and varnished for sale to the passengers! I caught Toms eye… Cocktails and Piranhas?… yes! With that we dove. I swam unseeing through the opaque water feeling the roots of plants and unknown inhabitants of the river rubbing against my legs. When I rose for breath I was joined by the children who had been paddling in the shallows. Passengers watched appalled from the banks, convinced we were playing with death whilst the locals laughed and splashed in themselves. I must admit, it probably wasn’t the wisest swim I’ve ever had, but I’m fine and well with no disease or injury to report. The piranhas kept their distance and Tom and I felt a kind of joy I’ve not managed to feel since.

The lovely lady who gave us our drinks

A glimpse of what was in the water… out of sight and very much more alive!

Cocktails!

The children we met on the beach

The moment I went under!

No turning back!

One of the local children enjoying a paddle!

The vicious sun dried us off as we walked back to the ship. Once there I headed to the bar for a cocktail… (without the Piranhas this time) and watched the equatorial sun set over the endless canopy of trees. All in all, it was a blooming lovely day.

Tom and I a little worse for wear!

A beautiful end to a perfect day.

Feb2

First night on the Amazon River…

Posted on February 2, 2013 by helenwilding05

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It was 1 am when we entered the mouth of the Amazon. If it wasn’t for the announcement I would never have known it. The Brazilian banks were still miles away and we wouldn’t see jungle till morning. However, intrigued I donned my formal gear (a strange rule… You had to be in formal attire after 6 pm if out in public areas… yes) and headed onto deck to take a look. I was completely alone and the night was inky black and oppressively hot. The only lights I could see were the spotlights illuminating the funnel and railed deck. There were no waves. The water slid silently past. Still and flat. The ship had long since retired to bed so no music permeated the air and no chatter or laughter bubbled up from the bars below. I stood for a minute considering just going back to bed…. Then I heard a quack. Yes a quack! I looked up, and circling the funnel was a flock of about 15 birds with blood red bellies illuminated in the eerie spotlights. They circled the funnel screeching to each other. They were the same shape as ducks but blood red! Just then a star shone through the heavily clouded sky. At least I thought it was a star. But no star could cut through that much cloud… As I watched, it got closer and closer. What was it? To this day I have no idea. I went to the outdoor phone. Called Toms cabin. I couldn’t witness all this by myself. I HAD to share it with someone. By the time Tom arrived the ‘star’ was hovering just a few feet above our heads. It was the size of a sparrow and shared the characteristics of a moth. When it beat its wings, orange flames seemed to wrap around its body obscuring it from view and making it look like a burning oddity floating over the deck. When its wings slowed the flames subsided leaving a seemingly naked moth fluttering banally. I decided something so mental and beautiful deserved a name. After some thought we decided upon Raul (for his south American nationality) Luis (for its light) and Billiante (for its brightness). Raul Luis Brillante entertained us for a few moments more then drifted off into the pitch black. I will NEVER forget that moment. I swear it was exactly like suddenly finding yourself in a Terry Pratchett novel or in Hogwarts. Nothing is recognisable. Fantasy creatures become real and experiences become suddenly childlike. It was wonderful.

As I didn’t have my camera…. thanks to www.viralblender.com/ for the shot.

Our attention turned to the rest of the life that was now populating our, recently deserted, deck. HUGE moths clustered on the spotlights and casting shadows like the Batman symbol, beetles the size of small eggs crawled over the astro-turf and the air tingled with creepy crawlies that defied description. We must have stood there an hour or more, a girl in a ballgown and a guy in a tuxedo, just looking and enjoying the unfamiliar in the middle of the Brazilian river in the small hours of the morning. I couldn’t wait for day break and a first glimpse of the rainforest. It proved to be worth the wait!… I have so much to say about the Amazon and many stories to tell so I’ll be adding them bit by bit to save you having to read a small novel each time I post! 😉 Have a great day and hopefully check back at some point. Next time… exploring the jungle and pink dolphins!

Jan29

Grenada: Grand Anse

Posted on January 29, 2013 by helenwilding05

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Grenada is a blur of hazy greens, deep dark blue, starling whites and accessorized with the bright stained-glass of towns shimmering out of its hillsides. Tom and myself decided to explore Grand Anse beach, a 2 mile long white sandy beach just a little distance around the coast from the port. ( http://www.grenadaguide.com/Beaches.htm ) We managed to catch a water taxi just as the heavens opened with a hot quick deluge. Through the sporadic rainfall we caught sight of houses and villages buried in the green foothills of the capital. Bright pink, sharp yellow and bold blue houses peeked out of the morning haze, winking their welcome to us as we rounded the cape into the sheltered bay of Grand Anse.

Our water taxi

The trip to Grand Anse

Houses peeking out from the green shore

As we docked, seemingly on cue, the cloud cleared and the sun burned away the remaining mist. The crescent of white glittering sand stretched far into the distance where boulders and sandbanks framed a river trickling into the ocean. The closest sections of beach were covered in sun loungers their proprietors already eying up the tourists ready to provide comfort and drinks… at a cost. Further up the beach, private hotels backed onto the ocean and their patches of sand were clear of loungers or umbrellas. We headed for the peace and shade of a tree about a half mile up the beach and claimed it with the universal symbol of a dropped bag and laid out towel! Leaving Tom to get settled I headed off for a run along the beach… not a great idea whilst wearing a strapless bikini top! Fortunately, modesty intact, I made it to the far end of the bay. The great thing about Grenada, I found, were the smiles. Granted they may have been the result of people quietly laughing at me trying to hold my top on whilst running haphazardly in the sand, but lets face it, who wouldn’t laugh at a pasty white girl lolloping down a beach semi clothed at 9 am! At one point a local dive instructor fell into pace beside me for about ½ a mile. I truly can’t remember what we talked about, but in breathless chatter I’m sure we became fast friends. Hot and exhausted I arrived back at our little tree, slapped on some factor 30 and crashed out with the kindle for a couple of hours.

Tom and I

Our little tree…

The water at Grand Anse wasn’t the turquoise placid sea we experienced in Barbados, it was a far darker affair. Deep blue water pushed forcefully at the sand and streaks of blackish green seaweed churned in the surf. The ocean seemed more foreboding in contrast to the desert island surroundings of the land. At the edge of the water the sand became harsher, thicker and more solid than the soft white under our tree. Standing with my feet in the surf, one wave sucked my footing away and left my feet in a cavern of sand. I liked that feeling. I liked that sense of power it held. The character of the sea that had been our home for so long, reminding us that she wasn’t always so pleasant. However, unperturbed we swam a little…. when, after a good 15 minutes swimming towards the water taxi rank, I found myself a good 200 meters further away from it, I decided enough was enough and exhausted, trundled back to my towel with a rumbling belly. Time to explore some local restaurants….

The dark sea contrasting the rest of the Caribbean

Powerful froth

Well, I can’t say we found a restaurant. But what we did find was a concrete back yard of a family home/café where Labrador puppies roamed free and a young man offered us the delights of controlled substances (which we naturally declined) whilst we ate his mothers chicken stew. It was FABULOUS. Yes, I found a chickens foot in my dish and a couple of feathers but the conversation was diverse, the food was tasty and home cooked and there were puppies to play with. A good hour later we ventured back into the midday sun and whiled away the hours reading and making friends with the various packs of people that polka dotted the beach closest to us.

Best lunch pals ever!!!

At one point a local man approached selling his wares. As the other tourists waved him off or, annoyingly, completely ignored him, I asked him what he was selling. He said that he could take a piece of drift wood from he beach and carve it into anything I liked and then make it into a necklace. I told him I love the infinity symbol as it reflects many of my spiritual beliefs, and so he picked up some wood and began to carve. 20 minutes later I had a bespoke necklace with an infinity sign craved from drift wood. He carved his name my name and the date onto the back whilst I asked him how long he’s been doing this. “Since I was 7” he said, “I’m now 81. I spend each day doing this and I always carve something new. I love my life”. I paid him $10 and felt lucky to have met him.

His name was Ariel and a hope he’s still there today, strolling down Grand Anse carving treasures for those lucky enough to cross his path.

As the day wore on we ventured to the local craft market to find some trinkets to take home. I wanted some vanilla extract for my baking back home and a doll for my niece. The market was colourful, stacked high with exquisite jewellery and vibrant art. I had no trouble finding huge amounts of things I wanted to take home! However, I was restrained and just got a traditional doll for my niece. What a sensible girl I was!… I was sure that sort of behaviour wouldn’t last long! Tired and sun-kissed we caught the taxi home to the ship. I don;t remember the evening. I was tired out! Another magical day…. next stop… THE AMAZON!!!

Grand Anse Craft market

Art stall in the market

GRENADA!!!

Jan27

Barbados Days: Diving and Drinking

Posted on January 27, 2013 by helenwilding05

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Barbados is crazy, beautiful and down-right brilliant. I tried to write something in expressive prose to communicate these facts but that wouldn’t do justice to Barbados. It is a truthful and fun loving country and I for one loved my time there.

Carlisle Bay

We got to the port early in the morning as usual. I stepped off the gangway and touched land for the first time in a week. It was hard to believe I had actually crossed an ocean. I was in Barbados! It was sunny! It was hot! … and we weren’t working for the two days we were there! Win!!Two days of sun, sand, diving and cocktails! I couldn’t wait!

The Boat Yard Beach

The port in Bridgetown a world in itself, filled with shops, cafés, restaurants and bars. A taxi to town will cost you only 5 Barbados dollars ($2.50 USD). I’d heard most of the crew would normally go to a beach bar called ‘The Boatyard’. Crew members could gain use of the beach, the facilities, get a free cocktail and a free ride back to the port for $5USD. That sounded like a pretty good deal! So off we trotted, past fishermen unloading the mornings haul for the waterfront fish market, past the steel drum workshop and through the morning rush hour of uniformed school children until we reached a small backstreet car park with bright murals painted on the walls. A wooden archway led through to a tropical bar and a beach full of sun-loungers ready for us to wonderfully sizzle on for the rest of the day. A pier led out into the turquoise Carlisle bay with a rope swinging from huge industrial sized pulley ready to plunge us into the clear water.

Another good day was starting, I could tell.

I have a love of diving and had heard from my good friend Sheldon that Carlisle bay was a great place to dive. After a mornings laziness we headed over to dive the 6 wrecks that lie hidden just off shore. The wonderful (not to mention handsome 😉 ) dive instructor held my hand through the wrecks and the squeezes through submerged portholes and darkened sunken propellers. Lobsters hid under the vast hulls, huge mysterious fish glided by nonchalantly and the hot midday sun made the silhouettes of turtles on the white sea-bed sand. The next hour slipped by filled with hazy sand clouds, imposing ship wrecks and weightless gliding through the turquoise deep.

My Wonderful Dive Partner

Prep before the dive

Me and Sheldon

After retiring to my sun-lounger hungry for jerk chicken and rice (and a few rum punches) I spent the rest of the day swimming with friends, jumping off the peer and climbing inflatable pyramids in the luke-warm sea.

Unfortunately, much like Monica in ‘Friends’ my hair got bigger and bigger during the day! As my fro threatened to cause a small eclipse night fell and we headed of to ‘The Gap’. ‘The Gap’ is a street of restaurants located just Past Turtle Bay where you can get local dishes, cocktails and music all night. I had a fab night surrounded by great folks and good food at ‘Sweet Potatoes’. It was not a night easily forgotten. 🙂

On board deck before heading out

Nearly time to leave ‘Sweet Potatoes’… Amy wasn’t happy!

The next day, our last day in Barbados, started early with a solitary journey to Carlisle Bay where I indulged in a little time to myself meditating on the beach. It was quiet time where nothing much happened but was just lovely all the same. As friends joined later we spent another day filled with rum, water trampolining, swimming and general horizontal existence. We meandered back to port as the afternoon drew to a close. Myself, the fire officer and one of the officers adjourned to a local pub for a beer to break up the journey. The pub was small and filled with locals who all slipped into silence as we entered. Obviously this wasn’t a pub for tourists! After 10 minutes of awkward waiting and narrowed looks, the proprietor of the establishment brought us our drinks and wished us a happy visit: all smiles and open-hearted welcome. Sated, we set off home. Passing the local pirate ship and the playthings of the rich and famous. By the time we had walked back to port the sun was setting a bidding us farewell over the western seas of the Caribbean. Next stop Grenada and after that…. the Amazon. Could I be the luckiest girl in the world? At that moment I truly thought I might be! 🙂

Sunset over the Sea

Magical Sunset over the port

Barbados bewitched me….. I’ll be back. Get the ‘Mount Gay’ on ice!

Jan25

Atlantic Crossing

Posted on January 25, 2013 by helenwilding05

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We’d traveled across the Atlantic for 6 days. Europe was behind us, Madeira had been a welcome hint of summer cutting through the January goosebumps. In front of us lay the Caribbean and every day the air got a little warmer. Barbados seemed a world away. Its a strange feeling when you are traveling to such a far flung place without flying! As the daily view was blue sky and blue water clouds somehow became more interesting. They were the only colour painted onto the vast azure canvas.

As you would expect, crossing the Atlantic takes a LONG time! My mister was travelling to Barbados from London 2 days after we left Madeira and by the time we arrived he had been, enjoyed and left! The trip was calm and leisurely for the most part. Every other day we gained an hour which meant extra lie-ins and longer days. Days were filled with frequenting the gym, drinking cocktails and performing a few shows. The water stayed calm and the ship started to live on the decks. If it was worth doing… it was worth doing outside! The monotony of the journey gave way to a more sedate vibe on board. People walked slower… why rush? There was nowhere to go! People read, sunbathed and ate. Its the only time I’ve ever truly relaxed and not felt guilty! Purely because there was no way to do anything else. Good times!

The morning before we sighted land I spent a lazy morning on the port side lower deck with my kindle and a skinny latte enjoying the hum of the engines and the whoosh of the calm sea flowing past. As I absent mindedly stared at the water, (probably unconsciously looking for whales!… I was ALWAYS looking for whales!), a movement in the corner of my eye had me confused…. I had seen a small bird flying close to the water then suddenly it was gone. As I was staring at the now empty patch of water… there was another movement in my peripherals. I turned just in time to see a small flock of 20 or 30 similar creatures dive into the sea. Flying fish! Suddenly there were hundreds of them coasting along in the warm waters rippling off the port side. Amazed, I just stared. For that one moment there was just me, the ocean and the sound of tiny plops as hundreds of winged fish hurtled in and out of the morning sun.

I wasn’t quick enough with my camera.. so thanks to bbc.co.uk for the archive pic!

What a lovely morning it was. I hope I have more like that! 🙂